poetry

pump

he clasps the handle
a thin sliver of soupy fuel
surges

background murmurs plague
his consciousness like sharp tendrils
crying through the clear face
a fallen wine
glass once had

there are no veins in his head
a usual pulsing area
pallid grave
potent humor
pungent sweat
playing ditties into
the velvet dress of the atmosphere
arrives by chance in the ochre hue
she calls melody

he wishes for water
or even the simple allure of nectar
which might free the puerile spirits
stalking petroleum
vigor locked
clasped
engaged with the duty to point
his nozzle to another garrulous motor
sucking in the sunlight
perforated people
fuel injected five year olds
and a simple silver barrel
gleaming in his hands.

 

PhilosopherPoet

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5 thoughts on “pump

    • I’m glad. I would suggest WordPress simply because it’s way more user-friendly compared to various other blogging software I’m tried. Once you have you own blog up and running, please leave me a link so I can investigate it 😉

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